


prematurely unhanded

by thevibeisdead



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, friends to almost lovers, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevibeisdead/pseuds/thevibeisdead
Summary: Sylvain liked to battle reckless. Didn't care if the archer spotted him as he galloped to his next target or that the arrow might have been faster this time. Never checked his back twice. But when Felix battles recklessly it's when his best friend is dead and his love is, too.Or: Felix likes to remind Sylvain of important matters before battle. The last time comes years too late.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	prematurely unhanded

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tweet: https://twitter.com/destroymuse/status/1239021561564151808?s=19  
> A sweet prompt with angst potential Twitter has blessed me with (thanks Val!) and my attempt at finishing - anything, really.  
> Thanks for stopping by!

Felix is a creature of habit. Schedules day and night to ensure wielding a polished sword and a clear mind on battlegrounds. Did his rounds to avoid certain blondes, same tea out of the same set of cups, his go-to spice blend in every meal. 

So when he develops this odd little habit it comes as no surprise. 

Felix likes to make sure he reinforces his words, an extra piece of armor along the way. And his best friend was always one to need that extra push. No matter how many times he thrust his index finger into the taller man's chest as he scolded, pronouncing that he shouldn't dare to get heedless in battle. He could place serious bets that Sylvain would once more end up the archer's pincushion some time soon.

The future margrave likes to play with fire, though that might be clear judging by that he handles a flame, Felix himself is vicious and tough to tame. He has that burning in his gemstone eyes, polished amber when he approaches Sylvain who had just kicked a leg over the saddle as they prepared to swarm out. 

"Hold up, I need to talk to you."

And the redhead instantaneously knows it's something important, knows Felix has no problem sharing marginal things after combat. So Sylvain lends an ear, "Sure, what is it Felix?".

"Listen, if a lance grazes your shoulder like last mission I'll personally rip it from the enemy and stick it back to where it should have hit. Understood?"

The man in interrogation can't help but crack a smile, marvel at the timing of this threatening demand. To think Felix had waited until this very moment for an urgent effect.

"Hey, I did get away didn't I? Would be counterproductive if you killed me instead. A simple "good luck" would have been plenty, you know."

"Sylvain I'm serious! I saw that and I'm tired of these close calls! Is not being an idiot for once so difficult?"

A chuckle. Was Sylvain humoring him? 

"Awh, were you watching me?"

Felix plainly huffs in response and stomps off to get into position. His best friend is absolutely incorrigible, apprehends him in ways he could only pray threats were the way to go when any rational weapon falters. That evening their troops return to the monastery under a clear sky, in parallel to the swordspoint lines on Sylvain's skin mapping out constellations with no sight of bloodstain clouds. Felix goes to bed utterly pleased with himself, although he'd merely commented that this day was long overdue. 

From that day on, a habit is being born slowly.  
Bit by bit because a next battle was ensured and the spell Felix must have cast, the little wonder he caused wore off by the time they fought again. Sylvain comes limping into the infirmary with a lopsided grin and an unsightly scorch mark to the knee.  
And when the obligatory lecture is skipped, the ginger can guess what awaits him as a substitute. Felix has an ace up his sleeve now. 

Before the troops depart anew, the telltale click of approaching boots to pavement make Sylvain smile, he doesn't need to turn for an educated guess. 

"Sylvain."

He is waiting to face him nonetheless, doesn't have to wait for the equestrian to comply either. 

“Let’s compete. If you get out of here in better condition than me I’ll polish your lance and armor as well after. I know how much you dislike that. That being said, it also works vice versa. What do you say?”

And Sylvain almost drops a much too obvious innuendo, bites his tongue before it can spill. Because this here is as much care Felix would ever show, never again if he doesn't shut himself up. Agreeing to his terms turns out to be a kick the equestrian needs, sought out even. This time it's Felix who's almost forced to the ground by an opposing mage and the hit he takes to the shoulder barely bugs him. He doesn't regret it even when Sylvain blabs his ear off whilst he's burnishing his gauntlets. Pays the company and tribute that Felix never asks for. 

When the copper eyed swordsman stands before his cavalry once again, Sylvain had stayed off it's back for the time being just so he'd be approached face to face again. A grin spreads on Sylvain's features, languid, though no trace of mocking. But the dark haired seems to sputter, a phenomenon he'd rarely seen unravel on his face as words fail the soldier. Earnest emotional effort never rolled off his tongue with ease. In the end, Felix vacantly reminds him that Seteth had called for him prior to when they've left. Something about Flayn, Sylvain barely pays attention. Waits for the importance in his words, the urgency that's supposed to keep him safe when he fails to do so. 

By the time most units retreat to their rooms for the night, Sylvain is still stuck in the infirmary being patched up and lectured by two tired healers. He's heard it countless times before. 

Doesn't listen anymore because actions speak louder than words. The way Felix is found dozed off in the hallway yells through the corridor and how he wakes up acrid is roaring. Whenever Sylvain confronts him about his verbal good luck charms after battle, both immediately know what events are in question. This time around, Felix avoids a testimony. He can only feign not to care until he walks away this loudly, really his heels only kiss the floor but the echo of it is haunting. 

None of this was supposed to be easy. They're at war, have been for the past years. Before a child was born in this era every parent met the conscious decision to seal it's fate in bloodshed. Felix had no issue being born a knight, a vessel to the kingdom to solve it's political squabble with. But in such dire times, emotion was marginal. Second rank, had no place in a war. No two fronts in one's head should affect the soldier, he couldn't afford to lose sleep over a companion now. Hence why he doesn't forge bonds, Felix tells himself. How dare he break those borders down.

The weather is disgusting as they set foot on gronder field, the ground squelches under every heavy step where grass once grew, a bad omen of dense clouds blankets the battalion's many heads whilst they pour their heart out over them. 

Felix hates that he's about to do the same.

He almost slips on the tread towards Sylvain's vicinity, gathers himself as he spots him seated high on horseback already. The swordsman frowns. Standing face to face already proved difficult with the height he's gained on him, like this he towered two feet over Felix, who wasn't expected after last time's faux pas. 

But he came again, an announcement to make like no other. After reprimanding himself enough for the tucked in tail he made sure to retaliate strong. And he would say no more, draw his last weapon although this approach felt like coming unarmed. If Sylvain couldn't stay safe for his own good, by anything that's holy do it for someone who cares. Who favors action over the hollow carcass of a word.

"I love you." 

Felix's voice is surprisingly firm as he yanks the knight down by whatever he can grab hold of. 

The way he crashes their lips together feels like an ambush, as if his sword laid forgotten at the monastery instead of abandoned at his hip when they fell into each other. 

Truly fell because Sylvain near slips out of his saddle as the kiss lingers, eyes blown wide before he indulges. Felix felt he might die the sweetest death as he did. The younger, although manipulated by inexperience, kisses like he fights. Vicious, for a certain cause, and headstrong. They're only distantly aware of the chatter that erupted around them before they pull away.

"For good luck's measure." 

Felix mumbles with half-lidded eyes and then he's gone. Gone because they both know now's the worst time for sentiment, to make up for lost time even if the thought of it is a siren that calls the swordsman. Wants to turn on his heel and let Sylvain's horse carry them away to exemption. He doesn't yield. 

The cavalier is left pressing index and middle finger to kissed lips, once, twice. His conscious didn't betray him and the vanishing perpetrator's figure is the only trustworthy proof.  
How should he handle this bittersweet plethora of information? Felix loved him and they're at war, they're expected to pump out offspring and Sylvain doesn't care. Two young men with their hearts on fire and somehow, he isn't keeping up. 

For Felix he takes the first soldier down, and the second, wonders if it was for him all along. Thinks if this war is to be won they might have a prospect outside the boundaries of dirty battlefields. The chance whispers to him sweetly.

Sylvain won't take risks today, not when his childhood friend loves him and all these other women don't, won't need him like Felix does. Today he isn't reckless, doesn't mean to be when a vision gets the best of him. Felix might one day admit he needs him, verbally and so very real the confirmation for what his love had done to the reserved swordsman. 

Sylvain only realizes what he had done when part of his chestplate dislodges in an attack he could have dodged, leaving his chest vulnerable as the beat underneath swerves off course. He had been daydreaming.

Felix's offense was as effective as ever because Sylvain isn't scared for his own life. He's terrified for the future that might go down in the sludge with him or the void his passing would leave behind. But war doesn't wait for lovers, as much as it would never consider broken armor whether mental or physical.

He needs to get out of here, Sylvain realizes as it dawns on him what promise he sealed in a kiss. The contract of self preservation he signed with his waxen lips, at least that's how mobile they feel as he scans the area for backup. The cavalier considers himself saved as he spots an approaching ally.

If only he'd seen that axe coming with such infallible timing.

One thing Felix has to admit to himself adamantly. He has been watching Sylvain. Despite forsaking his training, a raw elegance lays in the way he wields his relic that Felix didn't fail to spot through expertise. It aggravates him in a certain way. Unlike him, the swordsman isn't easily distracted even if his focus takes a shift, his narrowed eyes can bare following Sylvain whenever he raises the lance of ruin above his flaming head in a victorious taunt.

The moment he takes notice of his unsettlement is only delayed by a few mortal seconds, the decision of leaping to his aid even less. But the flow of time seizes by the feel of it as Felix registers the knockback, a lurch that might as well be tugging on his own torso as he watches Sylvain slip out of his saddle reluctantly. The blade of an axe that cracked open his chest cavity gets stuck and after all the wounds he had seen and caused, Felix feels he might be sick.

He knows it's too late to yell for a healer, still cries out for Mercedes or anyone's aid really. 

Felix hates to dwell on regret but he can't help reminiscing on the stolen kisses and hushed up whispers that never happened and his love would allow. Of course he recoiled the time his chances were blooming because he believed they were wilting and now he kneeled in the sludge next to his unrooted future. He hates that they both knew what a fatal hit looks like, that there's no use in screaming that Sylvain shouldn't dare to die on him now.

"So you were watching me, Fe.." 

Felix doesn't care that there's blood spilling from his lips or that he tastes it when he shuts Sylvain up, robs the responsibility to form last words from his mouth. Laying on the ground withering together is when they speak the same love language. 

When he's no longer kissing a living man, Sylvain's slack lips aren't either. He rises to his feet with lover's blood stained lips and death in his eyes. 

Sylvain liked to battle reckless. Didn't care if the archer spotted him as he galloped to his next target or that the arrow might have been faster this time. Never checked his back twice. But when Felix battles recklessly it's when his best friend is dead and his love is, too. When Dimitri materializes to avenge their loss, Felix shoves him back with all his might. He'd never been stronger than the prince. No one lost as much as he did this day and now he’s paying the weight of past and future in gold and there’s no time to wait for revenge.

"Stay the hell back Dimitri or you'll join him in the dirt. I need to handle this dastard." 

He doesn't stop until the mercenary who landed the fatal blow to his heart is skewered on his own sword. So it comes as no surprise that this day, the officer's academy covers two of their greatest units’ bodies in dignitary white sheets as they're carried off the battlefield. Felix has a promise to keep and a habit to maintain, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe they're granted a happily ever after in heaven.


End file.
